Walking
by secretmonkey
Summary: Karma needs to talk to Amy about her dream, but camping's taking longer than she thought it would. And that's giving her way too much time to think. Pretty much all Karma, with slight Reamy at the end.


Karma needs to talk to Amy.

_Needs._

She's needed to talk to her since _The Dream_ . And that's how she thinks of it, all caps and italics and like it's a big fucking deal, because, let's face it - it's the _biggest fucking deal. _Even if she has no idea - not even the first damn clue - what the hell it meant.

OK. So that's not entirely true and she knows it. Karma may not always think about things too deeply or consider the consequences of what she does _before_ she does it, or even think about the feelings of others (and she _knows_ that too, and she's _working_ on it), but she's not stupid.

She knows damn well that dreaming about making out with her best friend means something.

Dreaming about doing something more than making out? And her being the one to be… doing _the something_?

Yeah, even Karma knows that means something. Something else entirely.

And that's why she needs to talk to Amy. Because Amy went through this - whatever the hell this is - already. Or at least Karma thinks she did. She figures she must have, seeing as how Amy's all out and proud and dating a girl…

And shit. For a moment there, Karma forgot all about Reagan.

OK. So _that's _not entirely true, either. Forgetting implies that it was accidental. That the purple-haired, way more experienced, way too fucking hot older girl had simply slipped Karma's mind.

You know, except for _The Dream_. Except for "I love camping" and "I love camping, too".

And even Karma knows what _that_ meant. She's not so clueless that she can't pick up on the little message her subconscious was sending.

Amy loves camping? Sure. Amy loves _camping_ like Lauren loves manual labor, Shane loves closet cases, Karma loves being the center of attention…

Well, maybe not _that_ one. But you get the idea.

And so does Karma. The idea is that Amy loves Reagan. Or she might. Or she will.

She _could_.

And Karma wants very badly to say she's OK with that. That it doesn't bother her. That Amy's moving on and that's just hunky fucking dory.

And, maybe, if she hadn't just dreamed about going down on her best friend, she'd be able to say that.

Maybe.

But now Karma's thinking about Reagan. And Amy _and_ Reagan. And yeah, Karma can be selfish (she's _working on it_, for fuck's sake), but she also loves Amy more than anyone (even if she's not entirely sure _how_ she loves Amy more than anyone right now). And that means that, more than anything, she wants Amy to be happy.

And Reagan seems to make her happy. _Seems_ being the operative word. Because, Karma knows, things aren't always what they seem.

A year ago, Amy _seemed_ straight.

Three days ago, Karma thinks, _I _seemed straight.

And that's the kicker, isn't it? For all her need to talk to Amy, for all the confusion and worry and - if she's being honest - fucking arousal caused by _The Dream_, Karma doesn't know anything.

Let's face it, she thinks. _The Dream_ came on the heels of… well.. "thanking" Liam.

And the way her body shudders and she feels the need for a _long, hot_ shower at the thought of those twenty minutes (and she knows she's being _generous_, but see, there she goes working on her selfishness..) probably should tell her something.

And, truthfully, it does.

It tells her that Liam fucked her best friend and lied about it for months.

And just days after finding out, Karma fucked the best-friend-fucker, had a dream about 'experiencing nature' with said best friend which then morphed into a dream of said best friend and said best-friend-fucker fucking _again_.

And to hell with talking to Amy. What Karma _needs_ is some of her parents "special" brownies.

At least then she'd be confused _and _ high. And that certainly wouldn't suck.

But her parents don't have any more brownies. A few hours in the slammer convinced them that maybe they'd better off sticking to smoothies and kale - and now she's back to thinking about Reagan, again, with her fucking killer kale.

For a moment, just one, Karma wonders if maybe she already _is_ high and she's just so high that she's forgotten she's high.

Because that's about the only thing that could possibly explain the off the tracks - like not even in the neighborhood on the wrong side of the tracks - way her mind is working right now.

Maybe she needs a dossier? _How to Tell Your BFF that You Might, Maybe, Possibly, Have More than BFF Feelings for Her, or, at the Very Least Would Really Like to Stick Your Tongue…_

Yeah. Let's skip the dossier.

No, the only thing that's going to make any sense of this is talking to Amy. And if Reagan gets hurt in the process, well, Karma would like to feel bad about that.

But come on. The bitch almost killed Amy.

So, if Reagan gets a little hurt, so be it. She's been around for what? Five minutes?

Ten years trumps… well… anything.

Or so Karma thinks. Right up until she doesn't.

See, this whole time that her brain has been running the fucking hamster wheel marathon and she's been hell bent on seeing Amy - she _needs_ to - Karma's been circling Amy's block. Over and over and over and over…

She lost count around the seventh over.

She's been waiting for Amy and Reagan to get home from their little excursion, which basically means she's been waiting for Reagan to drop Amy off and then make like the soon-to-be-a-footnote that she is and go away.

Hey, she's thinking of Reagan's feelings here. It'll hurt less that way. Amy can call her tomorrow or text her or send a fucking carrier pigeon and Reagan won't have to _see_ it.

See? She's working on the selfishness. Really, she is.

So, since she doesn't have a car (unless you count the Good Karma truck and really, she'd _have_ to be high to count that), Karma walked herself over to Amy's house. And when, an hour later, Amy still wasn't home - and we're not going to think about what might be taking them so long - Karma started circling the block.

One time around. Two times. Three. Four.

On the fifth trip, she timed it. Twenty minutes to go down to the corner, up the hill, round the bend -

And when the hell did she end up in a bad country song?

So, every twenty minutes, Karma comes around the last corner and sees Amy's house. And every time for the last two - three? four? - hours, it's been the same house. The same empty driveway. The same walk all over again.

At least she's getting a workout. Her calves will thank her later.

But this time - _finally_ - it's different. There's Reagan's truck with its six thousand bumper stickers sitting in front of Amy's house. And there's Amy, leaning up against the door of the truck.

And there's Reagan. Leaning up against Amy.

They're not kissing, at least not like in _The Dream_, which Karma is grateful for. Because confused or mixed up or coming out or whatever the _fuck_ she is, she's pretty sure if she had to watch them kiss like _that_, she might just drop dead.

Then again, a heart attack from three - four? - hours of walking might do the same thing.

So, Karma's glad they're not making out. Right up until she's not.

Anyone else sensing a pattern?

Because, see, if they were making out, Karma wouldn't be able to see Amy's face. She wouldn't be able to see the smile. _Her_ smile.

Not _her_ as in Amy. _Her_ as in Karma. That's _her_ smile. The one only she is supposed to be able to see. The one only she is supposed to make appear like magic on Amy's face.

And, if they were making out, Karma wouldn't be able to see the way Amy shuts her eyes - only for a second - when Reagan brushes a few errant strands of blonde hair back behind her ear. Or the way Amy leans into the contact as Reagan cups her cheek.

Even if they _were_ making out, Karma would still be able to see the way Amy's hands settle on Reagan's hips, the way they seem to fit there like they were made just for doing that. The way Amy slips her fingers through the belt loops on Reagan's jeans, tugging the older girl closer.

If she couldn't see all of that, Karma wouldn't have stopped walking. She certainly wouldn't have ducked behind a tree three houses down from Amy's.

She considers, just for a moment, turning around. She could walk the block again, go back the way she came and, in twenty minutes, she'd be back here and Reagan would be gone.

Unless she wasn't. Unless she stayed. Unless she followed Amy inside and up to her room and cuddled up next to her on the bed, head resting on Amy's chest, the blonde's fingers absently tangling themselves in all that black and purple hair.

And God, who thought Karma could ever envision something she'd like to see less than Reagan and Amy _fucking_ like she's now absolutely sure they have been?

A girl knows these things. Especially a girl who knows Amy like the back of her own hand. A girl who can see the way her best friend looks at Reagan, the way she touches her, the way she lights up every time the older girl looks her way or brushes a hand against her.

_I love camping_.

Even Karma can get the message.

And even she knows, there are some things even ten years can't trump.

And as much as _wants_ to talk to Amy, Karma guesses her best friend might _need_ her _not_ to, just a little more.

So, she does turn. She does walk back the way she came. And in twenty minutes, she'll be walking back into her own house.

See? There she goes again. Working on the selfishness.


End file.
